Bad Faith in Name, But Gracious in Nature
by megyal
Summary: Wizarding children have developed a life-threatening condition caused by an old curse. The cure is to be found in the Malfoy Library; surprisingly, Malfoy is willing to help, but only if Harry helps improve his standing in the Wizarding community. Contains a fair amount of Ted 'Teddy' Lupin.


_[Note: Originally published 2012-06-16 in other places, reposted here. If you've encountered it already, my apologies.]_

**Other Notes: **This was written for HDS Beltane at Livejournal; using a prompt from ashe_frost. This was beta'ed by tigersilver, txilar and the Built In Beta. Thanks so much to them all for their awesome help, and to the mods of HDS Beltane for another great round!

Most of Draco's Wizarding Society musings are based on an article on : '6 Horrifying Implications of the Harry Potter Universe' .

* * *

**Malfoy Family given Auror escort after arrival in the UK**  
November 13, 2003  
by _July Tremmens_ in _The Daily Prophet_

_The remaining free members of the once-powerful Malfoy family have returned to England after their self-imposed exile to the United States. Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco, had left the country after serving six months of community service. They resided quietly in the village of East Hampton in New York for five years. It is reported by the Wizarding Offender Management Division of the Aurors that during this period, the Malfoys submitted to their regular checks without complaint._

_They arrived today at the Ministry of Magic at 5 pm to meet with Aurors, before being escorted to the Malfoy Manor. There has been no report to date if they will be allowed to visit the imprisoned head of the family,_  
_Lucius Malfoy, currently housed in the Hyperion-class Alastor Moody Detention Facility for Criminally Inclined Magical Individuals._

_2nd Lieutenant Auror Harry Potter was on training in Wales, and was not assigned to be part of the escort._

**Source of 'Wasting Sickness' confirmed**  
February 25, 2005  
by _Oliviere McDougal _in _The Daily Prophet_

_Healers and Mediwizards at St. Mungo's have confirmed that the deadly Wasting Sickness seen in children is the result of an old dark curse. The first modern recorded case of the affliction was from County Lancashire, in March of this year._

_According to current Head Healer David Mullings, the curse is classified as a 'sleeper' type, most likely cast by the followers of He-Who-Was-Defeated during the last great Wizarding War._

_"The immediate targets of the curse would not present any adverse reactions," he says. "Nor would they ever. The curse would alter their DNA, that's a Muggle term, and would only affect their children."_

_Due to the quantity of children suffering from the Wasting Sickness, a new ward has has been established above the Spell Damage floor. Lead Auror assigned to this case is 1st Lieutenant Harry Potter._

_.:._

Auror Harry Potter disliked doing the press meetings, but he seemed to be the one chosen most to carry them out. People liked to see his face, Shacklebolt claimed when Harry said that he really didn't want to do them; his face calmed them, made them feel as if something was going to be done. Harry, who inspected his face in the mirror nearly every morning, with the narrow shape and the too-bright eyes, didn't think that this was a mug which read _Everything Is Under Control_.

Harry didn't feel particularly in control himself as he strode into the long, narrow room that the Aurors used to conduct these meetings. The reporters started shouting at him immediately, and Harry flashed them a quick glance, flapping a hand at them in irritation as he made his way to the table at the very front. The glance had felt annoyed on his face, vaguely harried at best; but the manner in which the rabble calmed down instantly, one would have thought Harry had thrown some sort of Medusa-based charm on the lot. It was a bit disquieting when people did that. They did it all the time, too. Sometimes, they wouldn't look him in the face, either.

"Morning," he said as he adjusted his robes and took a seat. The reporters perched on the edge of their chairs, their quills quivering over parchment, hovering next to their heads. "All right," he said, exhaling the words. "Let's start. You, there."

"Alexandre DeLeon, from Le Charmeur," the sandy-haired man said, and gave Harry a toothy grin. Harry stared at him blandly. After Harry had given that interview in which he'd carelessly admitted that it didn't matter much what gender any potential partner was, he'd gotten a lot of those wide smiles. "Harry Potter, has the originator of the Wasting Sickness been found?"

Harry nodded, and the other reporters in the room gained annoyed expressions. "Yes. The Auror Division has confirmed that the inventor of the curse was a man named Adelulf Thalberg." He paused to allow the furious scratching of the quills to subside. "Some of you might already know, but he was a cursebreaker and curse-inventor around 1755. We've sourced a great quantity of his personal diaries, and there are passages describing how he came up with the Victors' Curse." Harry swallowed, keeping his chin level before speaking again. "From the descriptions in Thalberg's writings, Healers have confirmed that the Victors' Curse and the Wasting Sickness are one and the same."

The reporters all began speaking at once, and Harry remained still, watching their lips move and their eyes widen at him. After a moment, they descended into mutters and then silence once more.

"Thanks. Miss Verona."

Delia Verona from the Prophet had to stand up, she was that tiny. Harry liked her; she'd been a few years after him at Hogwarts, and there was something frail and yet determined about her that reminded him of Colin Creevey.

"Auror Potter," she began, and that was the other thing Harry liked about her. She didn't say _Harry Potter_ the way most people did, as if it were a title and not just his name. "How far have your division and the Healers gone in locating the counter-curse? Can one be invented just as the original curse had been?"

_Easy here_, Harry told himself. _Face, do your best_. "Thalberg did create a counter to the Victors' Curse, and wrote it down somewhere. We've seen evidence of that, and we're going through all the available documentation. From what the Healers have said, and they probably have a better way to explain it, the Victors' Curse is mutating magic. For something invented that long ago, it just doesn't keep the same form long enough for them to get a fix on it." He allowed a faint smile to emerge on his lips. "I've been told that it's all quite brilliant, even though it's been really hard on the children."

There were a few uncomfortable laughs.

"Please rest assured that Thalberg's counter-cure will be located soon," Harry said firmly, getting to his feet in a manner he hoped indicated that this meeting was over, short as it was. "We're working non-stop on this. We'll be fine, and the children even better." He smiled more widely and there was actually a low, relieved sigh from the entire room, more of a sensation than actual sound. Harry had been doing this long enough not to let the incredulity show on his face, but it still sat heavily on his chest.

"Thanks for coming. If you'll excuse me," he said and walked out as fast as possible, not stopping even when that DeLeon fellow called his name. He had a sick godson to visit before getting back to work.

_.:._

"Is it true," Andromeda asked flatly. She was stationed in her usual spot beside Teddy's bed, staring down at her grandson. Teddy, never the plumpest of children, was dangerously skeletal. His eyelids fluttered as he slept, the magic of the Healers holding him in a kind of temporal stasis, slowing down the ravaging effects of the Victors' Curse. Harry stared at him as well, unable to look away despite the lump in the back of his throat. Teddy's eyelids were paper-thin.

"Yes," Harry answered. "Dora was probably cursed and it passed on to Teddy. That's the hurtful part of the curse, you see. It takes away the victors' future...after they've won."

Andromeda smiled mirthlessly. "Nasty bit of revenge," she noted. She pressed the fingers of her right hand to her lips, and Harry noticed that they trembled a little. He wondered if she'd been home recently to eat and sleep. "And the curse." She asked questions as if she was making statements, as if she didn't have the energy to change her inflection. Harry had the feeling that she was putting all her energy into looking at Teddy, keeping him alive through her force of will only. He'd have to have a quick talk with Gin; get her to hustle Andromeda home for even the night.

"Andromeda," he said, very gently. She turned her head, but she kept her gaze fixed on Teddy's still form. "I'll be going, now."

"Yes," she said, but Harry wasn't sure she noticed as he stepped back. He turned and strolled down the middle of the makeshift ward; each of the many beds was separated by sturdy but thin walls. Within each small cubicle, another child lay quiet in a state near death, so that their lives would be preserved. In many of them, a parent or two would look up as Harry passed by; an expression of expectancy would bloom in their faces and seem to reach out to Harry, pulling him into the center of their despair. Harry nodded at them and they would turn back to their child, watching just as carefully as Andromeda.

He pulled the cowl of his short-robe over his head, and when he had reached a point designated safe for Apparating, he turned on his heel and concentrated on the large area in the middle of the Auror offices which was now grimly referred to as the Curse Room. As he popped in, a few sheets of parchment fluttered up and away, impelled by the displacement of air. Two of the Unspeakables assigned to the office snatched at them, and threw Harry very tired frowns.

"Sorry," he said, shrugging off his robe and placing it over the back of a nearby chair. He pulled the buttons at his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and then loosened the one at the top of his shirt. "Anything?"

Ron, lounging in one of the squishy bean chairs Harry had brought in, looked up with eyes which were very red but strangely feverish. His hair stood up at all angles, almost as messy as Harry's, and his stubble was heavy about his chin and cheeks. When Hermione came in to check on her junior team, she'd probably fuss over Ron terribly.

"I've been waiting for you to come in, mate," Ron said, and jerked his chin at the floor beside his beanbag. "I...I think I've found something."

Harry took one look at the bright cast to his eyes and settled down immediately, back against the wall. He took the translation of the diary Ron handed to him. Decoding and translating the writings of Adelulf Thalberg had been difficult, and the Unspeakables' particular talents had been stretched in solving the numerous layers of keys he'd placed on his vast collection of personal diaries. They'd had to go over them more than once, just to be sure, and it was tiring work even before the diaries were handed over to the Aurors for close reading.

The man had been a prolific writer, hailing from a temperamental family of inventive cursebreakers and creators. Thalberg had taken it upon himself to transcribe all of the ancient curses encountered or made by his family, while adding some of his own; these had been proudly bounded in a set of three volumes, called _der Familie_. As far as the Aurors could tell, the original _der Familie_ had been destroyed in a blood-feud, in which most of the Thalberg estate had been razed to the ground.

Harry had been convinced there was at least one copy of _der Familie_ out there; but as the days passed and the children became sicker, he was beginning to wonder if his gut-feeling had been completely wrong this time around.

"Here, on this page." Ron's big index finger rested heavily on the top line of text, rendered in blocky letters by the translation spells. "See?"

Harry nodded. It was a date, nearly a year before the Thalberg home had been destroyed. Adelulf had been in a drastic mood, caught in a betrothal that he obviously did not want. Before marrying the woman, he had embarked on a journey to Britain with a close friend, and they had stayed for months at a lovely estate in the countryside.

Harry flipped through a few pages which described the cool beauty of the hosts' home, and their impeccable manners. _Bad faith in name,_ he extolled in one line, _but so very gracious in nature. I am enthralled by their poise and power, and will send them a fitting gift for their vast library when I return to my own home... of one great family to another._

Harry stared and then swallowed, hard.

_Bad faith in name._

"Malfoy," Harry murmured, and Ron nodded.

"Of one great family," Ron repeated in a wry manner and exhaled. "For their library, it says. It could have been _der Familie_."

"It _has_ to be," Harry said, and then felt a sudden surge of helpless anger at the Malfoys. Of course; the curse _must_ have been found and used by Voldemort when he resided in the Manor, and there they were, sitting on the cure like bloody brooding hens on their eggs. His gaze flickered to where a few scraps of parchment was scattered on the floor beside him; their edges were turning up and going brown, as if they'd been set near a large candle.

Quickly, Harry envisioned his anger as a large column of fire and then froze it in his mind. The roaring of the flames stilled to faint cracking of ice, and the blaze of yellow was reduced to chilly blue. The parchment stopped crackling and Harry stared at them for a few beats. Satisfied that they weren't in danger of bursting into flame, Harry turned back to Ron, who had been watching him carefully.

"I'll go with you to the Manor," Ron said. "We'll get a team up, tell Shacklebolt-"

"Wait." Harry said and pressed two fingers to his temple. "Wait. Let me go in myself, and if it doesn't pan out, or...or something happens to me-"

"They'd be mad to try something," Ron said in a low growl, sitting upright and squinting at Harry. "Absolutely _mad_, and so are you, man. You going to Malfoy Manor alone? Come again with something else, mate."

"I just don't think we should go into this, all wands blazing," Harry said, feeling suddenly earnest. "Not yet. It's a delicate situation, Ron-"

"China shop, like." Ron grumbled but he settled back and then smiled. He jabbed his thumb at his own chest. "And I'm the bull. Fine. But let's tell Shacklebolt first, yeah?"

"Definitely. Let me get an owl out to Malfoy Manor." Harry allowed himself a smile as well.

The counter-curse; the cure. It might be so close at hand.

_Teddy,_ Harry thought, _hang on_.

_.:._

The elf that hauled open the massive front door of the Malfoy Manor was a wisp of a thing, even by elf standards. It blinked up at Harry with its large, bulbous eyes for a few beats; then, surprisingly, one side of its wide mouth twitched up in a cautious smile.

"Good evening! Finin I am. Who are you being and who are you wanting to see?"

"Hullo," Harry said, surprised into a grin by his little piping voice. "I'm Auror Potter. I'm here to see Draco Malfoy, or Narcissa Malfoy."

"Oh, _Harry Potter_." Finin's great eyes grew slightly damp. "Please to be coming inside, Mr. Auror Potter. And please to be following me, I will take you to the Master's library!" Finin turned around and scarpered off. Harry followed, glancing back at the door as it closed silently behind him, and then crossed the great space, which was probably some kind of receiving room. He purposefully did not let his memory note certain locations.

Finin had not climbed the elegant staircase, but had darted into a corridor to the left. Cautiously, Harry trailed behind, looking up at the old portraits on the wall; he put his hand in the pocket of his robes, gripping his wand. The portraits considered him closely, moving from frame to frame and whispering to one another.

The first door to the left was standing a little way open, and Harry heard a low voice asking a question. Finin's voice squeaked out a reply and the heavy door was shoved open. Harry stopped just inside the doorway, peering inside.

The library was large, rows of neatly shelved books climbing past two levels to the arched ceiling. A number of tall, narrow windows spanned the entire distance of the walls, so high that the tops of their arches curved with the ceiling; feeble sunshine filtered into the space. Beside a rolling ladder, a massive desk was placed right in line with the door, stacks of parchment trembling in uncertain towers. Draco Malfoy stood from where he had been sitting behind the desk, putting down the parchment and quill he'd had in his hands. He stared at Harry, grey eyes unreadable, and then fixed his gaze on Finin.

"I've done something wrong?" the elf asked, voice trembling. Tiny fists clenched and raised; Harry was half-afraid that he would start beating on himself, and frowned in concern. "I wasn't to be bringing Harry Potter in here?"

"No," Malfoy said and Harry was surprised to hear how deep his voice was. "Or rather, you should have told me first, Finin."

"I am very sorry!" Finin wailed, and Harry felt his lips press tightly against each other. The poor thing was obviously very young, and Malfoy was going to let him punish himself for the simple mistake; Harry didn't think he would have been able to stand it. Instead, he was surprised to see Finin rest his fists against his closed eyes, and begin to weep almost uncontrollably.

"Now, Finin, none of that," Malfoy said, very firmly. "The next time, you must take the guest to the drawing room, and then ask them to wait, then inform myself and Mistress Narcissa. Yes?"

"Y-yes." Finin sniffled and knuckled his tears away. "And then fetch the tea?"

"And then fetch the tea," Malfoy confirmed and inclined his head to the door. "As you will now."

"All right!" Tears miraculously dried up, Finin raced towards the door, stumbling to an exaggerated slow walk when Malfoy said, "No running." He tip-toed out, but Harry heard him pattering down the corridor, footsteps light and quick against the gleaming wood flooring.

"Finin is rather young and new," Malfoy explained, quite unnecessarily in Harry's opinion. "Excitable and given to sudden bouts of tears, as you have noticed. Good day, Potter."

Harry nodded. "Malfoy."

Malfoy indicated a pair of leather armchairs angled towards each other near a fireplace. "If you would like to sit?" His manner was tightly polite, and that suited Harry nicely. He strolled over, settling into one of the armchairs as Malfoy sat in the other, smoothing down the front of his dark-grey robes. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit from such an esteemed member of the Auror Division?"

His tone would have seemed bored, almost bland to most other listeners, but Harry had been tuned to Malfoy's mocking sneers for far too many years. He could never miss that small pressure of inflection over the _esteemed member _which indicated he thought Harry was anything but that. Harry decided to just get to the point.

"There may be a volume, or volumes of books in your library, necessary to a certain case we're working on now." He paused, considering Malfoy's relaxed posture, reading the lines of his shoulders, the cool twitch of one eyebrow. He knew. Oh, the bugger _knew_.

"In _our _library?" Malfoy sounded mildly interested. "And these books would prove helpful to the magnificent Aurors? How interesting."

"Yes," Harry said, almost hissing the last letter from between his teeth. "I've come to-" _confiscate_ was such a strong word. "...request them."

Malfoy turned his head away, inspecting the closest shelves. "_Request_ them. And what do _we_ get out of this?"

Harry glared at him. "We?"

Malfoy said, "My family, of course," without looking at Harry, as if the books in front of him were far more interesting than a cure for dying children. Harry wanted to get up and drive his fist into that pointy nose. Malfoy's gaze slid towards him, sly as smoke, before returning to the books once more.

"I shan't promise you access to your father," Harry told him, and felt coolly triumphant when Malfoy visibly clenched his jaw. "I simply have no authorization for that. The Ministry-"

Malfoy's head snapped around to face Harry once more. "There is nothing we would require from the Ministry," Malfoy cut in sharply and then seemed to review this statement. "Not my mother, at the very least," he amended after a pause.

"But you?" Harry said, for he had grown fairly adept at picking up what was not said. Malfoy gave him a cunning little sneer.

"There is much that _I_ would like," he said, voice smooth as a purr. "Much that the great and powerful Harry Potter would be able to help with, I'd wager."

Harry set his jaw for a moment, before working his way to calm speech once more. "If you're not willing to help _your own cousin_ out of the goodness of your heart-"

"I've been told I have neither goodness nor a heart," Malfoy cut in, still with that hateful little smile, but his eyes were shards of glass.

"-then I promise I'll help you in one aspect of your life. _One_." He lifted a warning finger. "As long as it falls within the ambits of Wizarding and Muggle law, is morally sound and does not harm anyone in the least."

Malfoy's expression was one of amused disdain, barely suppressed. "Offer accepted, Potter."

"I could have easily gotten a team of Aurors to pull this place up from post to beam until we found those books," Harry said, tone very low and sure.

Just as sure, Malfoy replied, "You wouldn't have found them if I didn't want you to. I guarantee you that. They are, of course, quite precious to my family's history. After all, Adelulf Thalberg had been highly favoured by _both_ the lord and lady of the Manor at the time. Ah, Finin is here with the tea," he said, leaving Harry with a mental wrinkle over that tidbit of information.

Finin walked in very carefully, ears twitching as he balanced the flat silver tray in both hands. A small table popped into existence right between the two armchairs, likely summoned there by Finin's elf-magic, and Finin set down the tray, stepping back with an eager expression.

"Well done, thank you," Malfoy murmured, but Harry was staring at one corner of the shining tray, only half noticing Finin's pleased bobbing.

Three small books, leather-bound and old, lay atop the gleaming metal; the front of the topmost one was stamped with an intricate pattern. They seemed so harmless, Harry thought, staring at them.

"They were _his _favourites, when he discovered all the curses recorded in these books," Malfoy said, and Harry didn't have to ask who _he_ was. "Now. How do you take your tea? I'll be mother, and pour."

_.:._

"He just..._gave_ them to you?" Ron stared at the books as a mixed team of Unspeakables, Healers and Aurors went over _der Familie_, breaking the old protective charms placed on each page, unlocking codes and making a copy of each frail sheaf.

"Yes," Harry said, and folded his lips together.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." Harry flinched as one of the Unspeakables let out a joyous little cry, actually quite low but seemingly piercing in the quiet of the room. The rest of the group scrambled over, and one of them read out loud: _To Break the Cycling Devouring Curse and Re-Assure the Victors' Future._ A small round of applause broke out. One of the Healers knelt on the ground, unmindful of the dusty ground. He covered his mouth with both gloved hands and tears streamed down his cheeks. Harry was a little taken aback at that; he felt he had been the only one who had been gnawed at with worry, every hour of every day.

"They've found it," Ron said and let out a massive whoop. Harry felt relief pull at the weight which had rested on his shoulders for many weeks now, but it was tempered by a kind of low-keyed self-torture. Since leaving Malfoy Manor, he'd wondered what he would be asked to do. A litany of embarrassing possibilities had occurred to him as he had Apparated from the Manor to the Ministry. One aspect of Malfoy's life, Harry had promised; he should have been more careful.

Staring at the jubilant little group, Harry decided that he could not have possibly made a different choice.

_.:._

An invitation to dinner at Malfoy Manor came a little over a month later. Harry was spending a quiet Sunday evening with Teddy, who was still a bit weak but gaining strength steadily. It was, at least, far better than seeing him wither away in the hospital.

"There's an owl outside," Teddy observed from where he had been reclining in the padded windowseat. Harry looked up from his own book. "It's just sitting out there, Uncle Harry. It has a letter, I think."

"It's probably for your gran," Harry said, putting aside his book and getting to his feet. He tugged down the hem of his jumper as he walked over, bending to peer outside. On a leafless branch, a tawny owl perched, staring into the window. As soon as it spotted Harry, it gave a little hop, holding up one of its feathered feet.

"I think it's for you," Teddy said and his hair shifted from the soft blue to the chestnut shade in the owl's feathers. Harry leaned over him and pulled the catch for the window, beckoning to the owl. Stubbornly, the bird remained in place, still holding up its foot.

"Oh, for..." Harry grunted as he leaned out as far as he could without jostling Teddy. The bird hopped a little closer, quite obligingly, and Harry undid the soft cord which secured the missive. The owl didn't wait for a treat, but took flight almost as soon as Harry began to inspect the seal of the envelope. Surprised, Harry stared at it as it soared off; did it not need a reply?

Teddy's softly curious voice broke past his astonishment: "Who is it from, Uncle Harry?"

Harry shook his head, mostly to himself and then glanced down at the heavy, square envelope in his hand. The embossed seal was the quite flashy Malfoy crest, complete with the requisite snakes and dragons. He slanted a rapid look at Teddy out of the corner of his eye, but the boy was gazing at the envelope. Quickly, Harry let some wandless magic curl out of him in a thin stream of power, stroking it over the paper. The magical scan sent back a kind of report that manifested itself as a physical reaction, a tingling in his chest or an itching between the blades of his shoulders. No curses here, as far as he could tell.

"It's from...someone I used to know," Harry answered and pulled open the flap. Black letters on a silver card indicated that _the presence of Mr. Harry Potter, First Lieutenant of the Aurors, was respectfully requested at a small dinner to be held at the Malfoy Manor in a few days_. Mr. Harry Potter was also asked to RSVP at the mobile below. Harry frowned at the string of numbers before he realized that this was a _telephone_ number.

Harry actually felt his word shift a little. Malfoy had a _mobile_, of all things, and was asking Harry to call it. He had a mobile as well, but it got all wonky if he used used it for too long; the thought of Draco Malfoy with something so Muggle was astounding to say the very least.

Curious, and with a dark sensation settling like a stone in his stomach, he slipped the invitation back into its envelope. He placed it on a side-table, noticing how Teddy eyed it closely.

"It's from the Malfoy family," Harry offered, not caring to hide anything from his godson. Teddy blinked and then adopted a nonchalant expression.

"Oh." He picked up his book from where he had placed it on his lap, gazing down at it. "I'm related to them, you know."

"I know. Want me to finish reading that for you?"

"No, it's okay." Teddy turned a page, and Harry returned to his own chair and book; now and again, he would look up and find Teddy staring at the envelope out of the corner of his eye.

_.:._

Harry smoothed back an unruly strand of hair and then stepped back to eye his reflection with a critical eye; maybe he shouldn't have put that product in his hair. It all lay close to his head and was now shiny. His face looked different with his hair like that: cheekbones more pronounced, eyes large and even brighter than usual.

At least his clothing looked very nice. A dove-grey robe in a stylish, fitted cut, stopping just below his knees in the front and going a bit long in the back. He'd liked the double row of large black buttons marching down the chest, and paired with a good pair of shiny black boots, he rather thought it was all very nice.

"How do I look?" He turned around so that Hermione, lying on his bed, could inspect him. She had one magazine in hand, and four others scattered around; beside her, Ron lay curled up on his side, fast asleep. Whenever Ron was troubled or upset, he claimed that a nap would always make him feel better.

Hermione's brown gaze travelled down and up Harry's body once. Ron snored, and she smiled.

"You look very nice," she finally said. "I like what you've done with your hair."

"Yeah?" Harry touched it, self-consciously. "You do?"

"You look like you're going on a date," she said. The corners of her lips tilted down. "Harry-"

"I already told him what I won't do," Harry told her, tugging at the front of the robe. "So. I don't even know, really."

She gazed at him for a moment, and then tugged her wand out of her sleeve. Pointing at him, she muttered a short rhyme of Latin; a faint red streamer of light coiled out of her wand and twisted around his wrist, warm against his pulse. A slender thread of it broke off, and, still connected to the main streamer, wafted to where Ron's hands were tucked childishly beneath his cheek. Yet another thread reached out of that one, going to curl around Hermione's free hand. The red light glowed for a few beats, then faded away. Harry could still feel the comforting connection, however.

"Thanks," he said, and she nodded, not needing to explain the protective alert she had just charmed between all three of them; if anything happened to him, they'd feel it immediately. "I'll be going now."

"All right, then," Hermione said, picking up her magazine.

"Right, mate," Ron said with his eyes closed, not sounding the least sleepy. Harry grinned, and then spun on his heel, popping quietly in front of the gates of the Malfoy Manor. As the last time, he was surprised to find that the house-wards did not repel his presence. He used the knocker, and nodded in what he hoped was a friendly manner when Finin hauled open the door.

"Hello, Mr. Auror Harry Potter!" Finin chirped and bounced on the balls of his bare feet. "Please to be entering! Follow Finin to the drawing room!" He turned and jogged off to the left, looking over his shoulder to make sure that Harry was following. Finin opened a set of folding doors, revealing a sunken, cosy room with none of the haughty portraits, but a few comfortable armchairs arranged in front of a fire. A small, round table sidled over to him. Harry looked over its offering of chilled wine and shook his head; the table returned to its corner and if Harry didn't know better, he would have sworn it was pouting.

"Potter," Malfoy said from the doorway and Harry turned around. He started to grin, for Malfoy was wearing nearly the same shade and style of robes, except his were of the longer, more traditional cut. Malfoy actually looked down at himself, and then back at Harry again. A strangely disappointed expression flashed across his sharp features, and the fledgling smile on Harry's face fled quickly. He tilted his chin up, a very tiny angle, determined not to let any of Malfoy's slights get through his well-trained armour.

"It appears we have the same taste in clothing," Harry said, approaching him. He stopped at the bottom of the three steps leading down into the drawing room, looking up at Malfoy's face. "In any case, hullo. Thank you for the invitation to dinner."

"Where are my manners," Malfoy said, inclining his head. "Good evening. It's...a pleasure to see you."

Harry felt his mouth twist at the obvious lie. "It was unexpected."

They stood there looking at each other for a few awkward beats.

"How is your godson?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

_What do you care_? Harry wanted to ask, but instead he answered, "He's doing well. Again, thank you for your help."

"Hmm." Malfoy turned away, and said over his shoulder. "We're ready for dinner."

Harry walked after him towards the dining room, which seemed to be really three rooms separated by arches. The middle section was far larger than the others, and had a massive dining table. Harry paused, staring at the wooden surface. Finin must have polished it to within an inch of its life, for it reflected the large chandelier above it, catching the warm light of the candles and glowing warmly. He wondered if _this_ had been the table at which Voldemort had taken his meals.

"Most of the Manor's furniture was replaced, Mr. Potter," someone else said, and Harry spun around to face the direction of the low voice. The furthest room, a kind of alcove in actuality, contained another table. Narcissa Malfoy sat at the smaller table, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair was piled high atop her head, and her robes were a dark green. Her expression was closed, but not particularly forbidding. She rose, and extended a pale hand towards him. Harry went towards her, shaking her hand solemnly.

"Welcome," she said, as she took her seat. "It is Finin's first time cooking a full evening meal by himself, and so I beg your indulgence."

"I'm sure he'll do well," Harry answered, very politely, and resigned himself to a night of stiff, awkward formality. At least the food was brilliant, thank goodness, and Harry smiled at Finin when he appeared with the dessert. The little elf was beaming with pride, but he practically shimmered with delight when Narcissa put down her cutlery and murmured, "Well done, Finin."

"Will you take some coffee in the drawing room with me, Potter?" Malfoy asked, staring at Harry as if he could force him using the power of his eyes. Harry nodded and got to his feet. Malfoy turned his face towards Narcissa without pulling his gaze away. "Mother?"

"No, thank you, my dear." Narcissa arose gracefully, and Harry noticed the way she stared at the side of Malfoy's face: rapid worry crinkled at the corners of her lips and eyes, before her face smoothed over once more. She nodded at Harry without meeting his gaze. "Good night, Mr. Potter."

They sat in the drawing room a few moments later, Harry watching Finin pour coffee with great care, Malfoy staring into the fire with a brooding expression. Harry settled back into his own seat as he accepted the sturdy china, taking a quick sip and steeling himself for Malfoy's request.

"Thank you," he said as he accepted a cuppa from Finin. "That will be all."

"Good night!" Finin said and bobbed at Harry cheerfully before popping out of sight. Harry hid a smile behind the rim of his cup. Hermione wouldn't be pleased to know he was amused by a Malfoy house-elf.

"Muggles aren't as stupid as I've thought," Malfoy said, apropos of nothing, and sipped. Harry shrugged.

"I've been trying to tell you that for years."

"You have not," Malfoy said, turning his head to glare at Harry, who smirked back at him. When he realized that Harry was attempting to joke with him, his expression became withering. "I was trying to make a point, Potter."

"So make it." Harry set his cup and saucer down on the helpful table, which had sidled closer. "Look, just get on with this so I help you and then get on with my life."

Malfoy's eyes glittered at him, catching the orange of the flames. "_Fine_. I've lived amongst Muggles for some time, and my conclusion is, they're far more dangerous than we think."

"Come on," Harry protested. "That's-"

Malfoy held up a palm. "Will you allow me to make my point?"

Harry glowered at him, and Malfoy gave him a smile so sweet it was grating.

"Thank you. Yes, that is a general statement to make, and I acknowledge that fact. Do you know what a handgun is, Potter?"

"What?" Harry reeled a little internally at the abrupt change of focus. "Yes, I know what a gun is."

"Do you know what a pipe-bomb is?"

"Of course I know what a pipe-bomb is," Harry said, and squinted at Malfoy. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"You're Muggleborn," Malfoy said, flicking the fingers of one hand in an almost dismissive fashion. "Most of these things seem familiar to you, like calculus, or laptops or even nail-clippers. But most wizards might not know a potato-peeler from a pistol, do you understand?"

Harry was mystified. "Yes," he said, keeping his tone level and calm. "I understand that much."

Malfoy's eyes were bright, almost feverish. "Ten points to Gryffindor, then. Do you know how fast a wizard must be to stop a bullet?"

Harry stared at Malfoy, unable to formulate an answer.

"If a wizard or witch doesn't comprehend what a gun _is_," Malfoy said. "Then how can they be fast enough to get up a shield charm in time?"

"What are you saying, Malfoy?" Harry asked, leaning forward. Malfoy exhaled sharply.

"The Wizarding world is _insular_," he said, in a manner that indicated that this admission was very painful to him. "There are Muggle concepts and objects we need to understand in order to protect ourselves. Muggles know about magic-"

"They really don't," Harry said, with a small smile. Malfoy drew himself up in his chair, and looked at Harry down the length of his pointed nose. "Come on, Malfoy. They only know of it in a fairytale way, like something in books."

"Think what you like," Malfoy said, very crisply. "When I heard a Muggle say _abracadabra_ one day, I nearly dived under the nearest hedgerow."

Harry tried not to laugh at that image and barely managed to restrain himself. Malfoy gave him an unreadable stare.

"All rather prejudicial of you, as usual," Harry said, leaning back and folding his arms across himself.

"This must be changed," Malfoy said, ignoring Harry's jibe. "We can't be stumbling about, not knowing what we're up against. We're _vulnerable_, because we simply _do not know enough_."

Harry looked at him for a very long time. Calmly, he asked, "Then what do you want to do about that?"

Malfoy actually blinked at Harry, thin lips slightly parted. Harry smiled; Malfoy hadn't expected such a direct question, but to his credit, he actually had a ready answer.

"I want to have our curriculum changed. In Hogwarts, rather." His gaze remained fixed on Harry, as if waiting for some kind of derisive response. Harry remained still. "Give Muggle Studies some more weight, and introduce a few comprehensive subjects which are equivalent to some muggle subjects." He leaned forward again. "I knew _nothing_ about the Muggle world until I got into it, Potter. It's far more than what I expected. I don't like being surprised like that."

"Anything else?" Harry said, still not quite sure where this was all leading to, but interested despite himself. Malfoy's shoulders twitched, a quick movement.

"Well. We should really begin to properly consider how officials such the Minister and the Wizengamot are elected; minimize Muggleborn dissatisfaction with their legislative representation. Correct the innate abuse of power which comes from not having political opposition. Other things, Potter, too many things." He waved a hand around almost carelessly. "There are things I want to do, that I want to see changed. But I cannot."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Why not? You're young, you're rich. You're smart enough."

"Oh, such pretty _words_, Potter. But I'm not to be trusted," Malfoy said and smiled, dangerously. "Haven't you heard? I'm a Malfoy."

Harry let his gaze slide to the fire, staring at the controlled flames. "And this is the aspect of your life you want me to help you with, isn't it." With his flat tone, it was more of a statement than a question.

"You have no idea, don't you?" Malfoy sounded as if he was still smiling in that perilous manner. "The kind of _power_ you wield, Potter."

Harry clenched his jaw, but made no move to speak.

"Your opinion, more than anyone else's in our world, is the most important right now." Malfoy laughed, a low, breathless sound. "Merlin, it's even worse than when we'd been in school."

"It is not something I _want_," Harry said, turning sharply towards Malfoy. "I _never_ did."

"Please," Malfoy sneered, "no need for histrionics. You've made a promise, Potter, and here's my 'one aspect': you're to put your bloody brilliant image to work for me. Make me look good."

_.:._

"I don't understand," Ron said, his face actually crumpled with confusion. "There are these words coming out of your mouth, mate, but they're not making any sense."

"Me neither." Hermione leaned forward a little, over the tiny table at which they sat. "What...what is it that he wants, really?"

Harry plucked at the napkin he clutched in one hand, and glanced around the small pub. A few of the other patrons smiled at him when he caught their eyes, but Harry made sure to look away quickly every time. "Technically speaking? Bolster his reputation."

"And he wants you to do that by being his... his _boyfriend_?" To his credit, Ron didn't sound scandalized, nor particularly violent towards Malfoy. He actually sounded a little sad and upset on Harry's behalf. He leaned close and murmured, "Pretend-like?"

Harry nodded, and his smile felt crooked on his face. "First relationship I'd be having in years, and it won't even be real."

Hermione cleared her throat in that delicate way she had. "You've agreed?"

"Yes." Harry sighed and then grimaced at the tiny pile of shredded napkin beside his wrist. He hadn't even realized he had been doing that. "See, when he's talking, he actually makes _sense_, you know? Like, more representation for Muggleborns. He knows the politics, and it's rather interesting."

"It is," Hermione agreed, her eyes gleaming. "Do you know that there are few Muggleborns on the Wizengamot? Even though the ratio of Muggleborns to purebloods is at least three to one these days."

"He said that." Harry shrugged. "It was quite a long rant."

Ron leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his broad chest. "What _else _does he plan to do?" he asked, all Auror and the grim suspicion that went with it.

"I've not asked. But this is a good chance to keep my eye on him," Harry said, and Ron nodded grimly. "Any Dark Arts, or illegal potions, I'll be the first to pick it up."

"Good," Ron rumbled, and they shared a Marauder kind of smile.

Hermione looked as if she wanted to roll her eyes, but instead she said, "Just be careful, Harry. Just be careful."

_.:._

Teddy stood underneath a tree, short-robe thrown casually over his t-shirt and jeans. He had a ball tucked under his left arm, staring off into the distance. Harry, dressed in his own Auror robes, had taken a long lunch to spend some time with him...and to have his first public meeting with Malfoy.

He wondered at the strange clenching in the base of his stomach, but he sat on the bench and waited, legs stretched out and ankles crossed.

"Ted," he called, "what are you looking at?"

Teddy shrugged and turned around, moving his elbow up so that the ball could drop. Its spell activated before it touched the grassy surface and it floated away gently, Teddy pounding after it. Harry watched him carefully, but Teddy seemed to be managing quite fine. He caught the ball and came running back towards Harry, and then stopped suddenly, almost stumbling over his own feet.

Harry tilted his head questioningly, and then froze when he felt a cool hand stroke the nape of his neck, brushing up under his hair. He turned around quickly, getting up at the same time. He gripped his wand before he even knew it, taking up a defensive position in front of Teddy, who peered around the side of Harry's thigh.

"Wonderful reflexes," Malfoy said, his head turned so that he could give Harry a sidelong look. "My apologies for startling you."

"You move really quietly," Harry said and immediately wished he could have taken back the slightly breathless quality to his voice. Malfoy's lips quirked up.

"I've had the practice. Hullo, Harry."

Harry cleared his throat. "Alright there...Draco." The name felt odd in his voice, and Malfoy's thin lips curled. Harry replaced his wand in its holster and reached back to tug Teddy around. "Draco Malfoy, I'd like you to meet Ted Lupin."

"You're my cousin," Teddy said, releasing his toy and stepping forward to extend his hand, little gentleman that he was. Malfoy bent at the waist and shook the smaller hand gravely.

"So I am." Malfoy nodded at him before releasing his hand. "Your great-aunt Narcissa, that's my mother, and I tried to visit you when you were hospitalized with your unfortunate illness. However, there was restricted access to your ward."

"Oh," Teddy said and glanced up at Harry. "Well. I'm better now."

"So I see. Thanks to your uncle, I hear." Draco smiled down at him and Harry had to blink. He looked very different when he smiled. Less like an evil pointy berk, really.

"Shall we walk?" Harry asked, and indicated the brick-paved walkway stretching past them and curving out of sight past the short shrubbery. This little park, set to one side of Diagon Alley, had been a very deliberate choice as a place to meet. In the Victorian era, it was popular among young couples to publicly indicate their courtship by walking around together. 'Courtship' was too strong a word to apply in this situation, Harry thought, but at least the wrought-iron fences were perfect for any reporter to peep in and see them.

He sighed and reached out to take Teddy's hand in his, jerking his chin at the ball; under his wordless command, the charm was adjusted slightly, and instead of racing away from Teddy, it trailed after him like a crup on a leash. Teddy was still at the age where having his hand held was not too big of a deal, so he walked with Harry for a few steps before they both realized that Malfoy wasn't keeping up.

Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Draco eying the little ball solemnly.

"Coming along, then?" he asked, and Draco moved his shoulders, a quick jerk. Smoothing his gloved fingers over the lapels of his robes, he strode forward and to Harry's surprise, he took Teddy's other hand. Teddy looked up in surprise, but made no comment.

They walked for a few minutes in awkward silence, Teddy between the two of them like the world's youngest chaperone. Then, Draco began to point out plants that were used in certain potions, and Harry began to listen not to the words, but to his voice. Low and deep, and surprisingly nice to listen to. Words crisp all around the edges, vowels nicely rounded.

"...but that's really a potion used in the Dark Arts," he heard Draco say, and his focus snapped away from the lull of Draco's voice in a hurry; it really was far too hypnotic, cadence a smooth rise and fall into the whorls of the ear, settling into the curves as if it was made to rest there.

"You're not telling him about Dark Arts?" Harry asked, trying not to sound as aghast as he felt. "He's _six_."

"The things I knew at six," Malfoy muttered, amused. At Harry's glare, he raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't telling him how to _make_ it, Harry."

"Are you a Dark Wizard?" Teddy asked him and Harry saw how Draco's entire body went rigid for a moment, before relaxing once more.

"What is your definition of a Dark Wizard?" He sounded absolutely nonchalant, and his expression was mostly bland when he met Harry's gaze over Teddy's head. His eyes, however, _burned_. Harry looked away.

"Someone who does Dark magic all the time, and uses it to hurt other people," Teddy explained and sniffled a little. "That's what Uncle Harry said when I asked, anyway."

"Then by Uncle Harry's explanation, I am not a Dark Wizard," Draco said and went on without pause to another ingredient to be used for potions. He steered clear of any mention of Dark Arts, and by the time they'd made four circuits of the park, Harry rather thought that Teddy was ready for First Year Potions, at the very least. They passed a few couples and groups, and they all had the same reaction: wide-eyed at Harry, narrow-eyed at Draco. It was almost funny, except it was not.

"Well, this was nice," Draco said when Harry pointed out that Teddy was tiring, and he ought to be taken home, disregarding Teddy's strident negations.

"Yes, it was," Harry agreed and then tried a smile. It felt tight on his face. "Dinner tomorrow, then? No, Teddy, just Draco and I," he amended at Teddy's hopeful expression. "We'll eat all together another time...if that's okay?" he asked, glancing at Draco.

"That's fine," Draco said.

"Okay." Teddy squared his narrow shoulders and said, "My birthday is next month, Uncle Draco. I'm having a party. I'd like you to be there."

Draco's eyebrows went up; Harry couldn't decide if that was at Teddy's formal tone or the use of _Uncle Draco_, or even the invitation itself, but he did not hesitate: "Of course, Teddy. Thank you."

"You can tell me about my dad and mum," Teddy said, shyly but determined. He was always hungry for stories about his parents; sometimes Harry's heart broke for him, in empathy. "If you want."

"Your father was a good teacher." Draco sounded very grave, not looking at Harry's incredulous expression. "A courageous man." He hesitated, gaze intent on Teddy, and said, "I don't remember much about your mother, I am sorry about that. I suppose you've never heard of Severus Snape."

"Of course I have," Teddy said, quick as anything, and Harry was gratified at the look of quickly repressed surprise on Draco's face. "Bravest man Uncle Harry ever knew."

"That's good," Draco murmured.

"And I heard you helped me to get better too," Teddy said. "Thank you very much."

"I'll talk to you later," Harry said with a small smile, and Apparated away, leaving Draco with what seemed to be a slightly befuddled expression on his face.

_.:._

"And that's where we are on the BelDon case," Harry said, glancing along the table at the other Aurors he'd managed to drag to this week's press meeting. "Anything to add?"

"Just a warning to the general public," Ron added and then flashed a wide smile. "We're pretty sure that being engaged to a banshee is illegal somewhere, so don't do it. Please."

"That's it," Harry said, after the incredulous titters had subsided. "We'll just-"

"One more question, Mr. Potter," a dry voice said from the back and Harry tried not to sigh audibly as July Tremmens rose from her seat round back like a spectre in a horror movie. There could have been mist swirling around to give a more sinister effect, as far as Harry was concerned. Her watery eyes fixed on Harry.

"Yes, Mrs. Tremmens?"

"Have you anything to say regarding the rumours surrounding you and Draco Malfoy?" her lined lips quivered after she finished her querulous question. Harry adopted a vaguely surprised expression.

"Not really, Mrs. Tremmens. I'm not sure what this has to do with our current caseload-"

"My junior colleagues have indicated that they've seen you and Mr. Malfoy at a variety of locations _together_." July Tremmens pronounced the last word as if it indicated they had been hoovering piles of illegal powder up their noses, in public. "Taking walks...dinner, four times! And a play-"

"My private life, as stated many times before, is not fodder for the media," Harry reminded her coldly. "_Especially_ in such a forum as this."

Tremmens paled but sputtered out, "But Draco Malfoy is a convicted criminal!"

"Who served his sentence." Harry leveled a very stern gaze at the entire room, and was about to launch himself into a lecture just as stern, when Ron abruptly got to his feet, and the attention of the entire room was pulled to his large frame.

"If Harry wants to spend time with Draco Malfoy," Ron said, and managed to say the name without grimacing, "then that's his prerogative. He's not an idiot, and neither is Malfoy. Harry here can take care of himself, you know that. We'll all watch out for him, anyway." Ron cast a flinty glance at the rest of the Aurors, who nodded without hesitation. "Fine. End of meeting, yeah?"

"Thanks," Harry muttered as they marched back to their offices, easily keeping ahead of the reporters. "That wasn't as disastrous as it could have been."

Ron let out a tired little laugh, holding open the door to their shared office. "A _play_, Harry?"

"I liked it," Harry said, lifting his shoulders in a quick shrug before sliding into his chair and considering the pile of parchment stacked to one side. Draco had taken his hand at the play, holding it loosely; his thumb had stroked slowly against Harry's skin, warm smooth movements that wove a maddening spell into Harry's bones with every soft brush. Harry wasn't blushing now because he was an actual adult, but at the time, he hadn't heard a word that was being said on-stage. When Draco had leaned close to murmur something about a character's motives, Harry angled himself close, enjoying the feel of Draco's breath against his neck. He was allowed to enjoy himself, right?

"Are you happy?" Ron asked and Harry straightened up, blinking at him. Ron was tickling the stamp with one finger, coaxing it to stamp itself on a series of official documents.

"Happy?" Harry muttered the word, half to himself. "I'm not...unhappy."

"I mean, does Malfoy...you know," and Ron took up the stamp, frowning down at it. The stamp wriggled nervously in his hand. "Do you _like_ being with him, is what I'm trying to say. He was awful in school."

"He's still kind of awful now," Harry admitted. "He says shitty things, even though they're mostly funny, and he's a massive snob. He mocks people," Harry said, hearing the amused tinge in his own voice. "It's terrible."

Ron nodded, still looking at his stamp. He opened his mouth and closed it again, and nodded some more.

"Okay," was all he said.

"Okay," Harry echoed, slightly mystified and yet still a little comforted. Hermione would lay out all her thoughts and feelings, waiting for Harry to pick around them and discover what he could, and that was fine. It was satisfying, though, to have these non-conversations with Ron.

Ron looked up with a small smile on his face. "So. Are we having a bouncy castle for Teddy's birthday or not?"

_.:._

Shrieking children piled in and out of the bouncy castle, shaped like a puffy dragon. Ron went in there a few times himself, bellowing in delight, tumbling out onto the soft grass in the field behind the Burrow. Harry was supervising a small Quidditch match, when Andromeda called up to him, "Harry, bit of cake for you. And Draco is here."

Harry turned around abruptly and was very nearly de-broomed by tiny Chase Hinkleston from down the road. Draco stood there, looking decidedly uncomfortable in Weasley territory and overly pale in the bright sunshine.

"Ron!" Harry called, smiling slightly at Draco as he descended. "Watch this game for me?"

"Yeah, sure." Ron grabbed the broom that Harry held out at him, giving Draco a jerky nod. Draco nodded in return, looking sidelong at him as if he was a dog that had been known to bite. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Molly at the long table of food, one hand shading her eyes from the sunlight as she stared in their direction. Ginny must have gone inside as soon as Draco had arrived.

They stared at each other, blinking awkwardly and Harry wondered how fake boyfriends greeted each other. Draco finally stepped closer and Harry froze a little, wondering if he would be expected to accept a kiss on his cheek, or if Draco was actually into public displays of affection. A small furrow formed in between Draco's fair eyebrows.

"This is for Teddy," he said and reached into his pocket, pulling out a massive box, long and narrow. He placed it in Harry's hands and looked around when Andromeda said, "Draco, would you like some cake?"

"I...thank you, I will," Draco answered from between stiff lips. He accepted a plate and stood holding it as Harry called to Teddy.

"This is from Draco," Harry said when the boy charged over.

"Thanks!" Teddy ripped into the dark wrapping and the silver bow. Harry cast apologetic looks in Draco's direction, but the other man was taking an experimental bite of the cake and didn't notice. "What is it? Oh..._My Very First Potion Kit_." Teddy stared at the elaborately carved wooden case which held the glass beakers and bottles, and small packets of dried herbs. "Am I _allowed_ to use this?"

"I don't see why not," Draco said. "There's a little book, there. You and Uncle Harry can go through it together." One side of his lips twitched. "It will be such useful revision for him, he was completely useless at Potions in school."

"Shut it," Harry said, less offended than he thought he should have been.

"Thank you very much," Teddy said with a doubtful smile, and went to put it with the rest of the gifts he had already opened. Running past them, he yelled, "You should get in the bouncy castle, Uncle Draco!"

"I'd rather not," Draco muttered under his breath, and concentrated on picking off the buttercream icing from the cake. For the rest of the evening, he managed not to be in the same location as Harry. Indeed, he spent the majority of his time removed from nearly everyone, including Andromeda. He sat stiffly in a garden-chair until Teddy's last friend had left with their little bag of trinkets, and Harry offered to help transport Teddy's pile of loot home.

"I'll assist," Draco offered, and shrunk half of Teddy's gifts, tucking them into his pockets and leaving the rest for Harry. He hesitated when Harry held out his hand, but tangled their fingers together after a few quick breaths. Harry stepped into his space, staring at the patch of skin just above Draco's collar. Harry Apparated them both to Tonks House, releasing Draco quickly.

Andromeda popped in with Teddy leaning against her side, half-asleep.

"Sit down on the couch," she commanded in her soft yet firm voice, tugging off Teddy's trainers as the boy collapsed. "Lie down, now. Can't carry you all the way up the stairs right now, not yet."

"Not tired," Teddy said and yawned tremendously, head lolling on the cushions. "Presents?"

"Harry and Draco will bring them up for you." Andromeda drew herself up to her full height, nodding at them with that trace of Black imperiousness. "I'm going back to help Molly a bit." She gave them a very slight smile and spun out of sight.

"Come on," Harry said, leading Draco across the sitting room, past the large kitchen and up the wide staircase. Teddy's was the second room on the right, a cheerful space with high ceilings, a bed wide enough for a boy that tended to roll like a crazy ball in the night, and toys neatly packed into a crate beside the wardrobe.

Atop the chest-of-drawers, Teddy's collection of moving photos flickered through well-recalled sequences: Remus and Tonks sitting on the fallen trunk of an ancient tree, heads bent close while bits of grass whirled past them; Harry himself striding away from the viewer, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder as he carried a broom to a field; Andromeda sitting in the big armchair downstairs, a book in her hand but glancing outside now and again... as if waiting for someone to come home.

Here was one with the Weasley family around their dining table, waving some Quidditch flags Teddy had made, and here...Harry peered at this newest photo: Draco, sitting in an armchair with a back that towered over his head and beside him, his mother stood, one hand raised to press fingers lightly to her chest. They were so still that Harry almost thought it was a regular, Muggle photo. That absurd thought was disproven by a white peacock stalking regally from left to right, disappearing out of frame and reappearing with haughty regularity.

"Mother and I have received invitations to the Beltane Remembrance Ball," Draco said behind him, and Harry turned around to face him. He had been unshrinking his particular cache of gifts, placing them one by one on Teddy's desk. Harry noted that his hair, which looked as rigid as the rest of him in the photo, now fell around his face in a soft fall.

"Oh, the ball." Harry moved closer to him, emptying his own pockets of tiny presents. "I've never been to one."

"Never been invited?" Draco's eyebrow-raise was at levels of sheer incredulity. Harry smiled.

"Just...I've never gone."

"Well, your name is on my invitation as well, so I suppose they think they'll get to you through me. Sneaky, I find, but quite the-"

"Wait, hang on. They've _what_?" Harry wondered if his face looked as amazed as he felt. "They've invited you and I _together_?"

Draco seemed insufferably pleased. "Yes. It's working out all perfectly, you see. The Beltane Ball is an excellent point of contact for the political elite."

Harry took a slow breath and then brushed away his hair from his temple. "Look, how long is this fake-boyfriend thing going to last? This is really a question I should have asked earlier," he muttered, more to himself than to Draco.

"Tired of being helpful _already_, Golden Boy?" Draco tilted his head back a bit, lips curling hatefully. "Don't worry. I'll release you from the torture of my proximity soon enough. Another month, at most."

Harry was stuck between claiming that it wasn't _that_ much of a torture, and that a month was far too long to be around such a snark-bucket, really, so all that came out was, "Well, you can try being a better fake-boyfriend in the meantime."

The expression on Draco's face was priceless. "Whatever could you mean?" he asked from between lips that might have kissed a Gorgon, glaring at Harry.

Harry took the Basilisk by the tail and forged on: "More affection would be realistic, you know. I mean, you spent all of Teddy's party hiding in a corner, how will that come off at the ball?"

"I was _not hiding_," Draco hissed. "Pardon me if I'm not able to relax when hemmed on all sides by _Weasleys_, and especially when my boyfriend's ex-girlfriend is hovering around like a raging Valkyrie."

"Ginny wasn't hovering," Harry said, actually laughing through his protests. "And we're not real boyfriends, anyway."

Draco's entire body did that all over freeze thing Harry noticed he got when he was feeling particularly unbalanced, and then he melted very slowly, very deliberately. "Of _course_, Harry," he said, low and controlled. His gaze was very cool and very heavy on Harry's face. "In the meantime, how shall I be a better boyfriend?" His tone was the embodiment of calm professionalism, but Harry was trained to hear that knife's-edge of strain. "Do enlighten me."

"A smile," Harry challenged, his own smile hard on his face. "A kiss. These are things that people do when they like each other a lot, you know? You look constipated in the Prophet's photos."

"I held your hand at the play," Draco pointed out, sounding childish. "And how dare you, Potter, I've _never_ looked constipated. Never _in my life_."

Harry shrugged carelessly, a move he knew annoyed Draco beyond reason. "You know, I'm probably asking you to step out of your little comfort zone, even if you _were_ the one who _mffff_." The completion of his sentence was obstructed by Draco's mouth; Draco had stepped into his space with a distinct lack of ceremony and pressed their lips together.

It was the driest, most matter-of-fact kiss Harry had ever received. He frowned when Draco pulled back.

"That was acceptable," Draco said, as if filling out some Ministry form. "It will have to do."

"No way, that was absolutely not acceptable," Harry said, absolutely mystified that kisses were that were allowed to exist. Such kisses should be thrown in a fire, Harry decided, reaching out for Draco with no forethought whatsoever, Gryffindor to the core. He slid his hands up Draco's shoulders, smiling a little to himself at the strength hidden under the somber material of the robes. He leaned in, and pressed his lips against Draco's, parting them invitingly.

Draco made a little sound in the back of his throat, tilting his head and putting his arms around Harry's waist, pulling him close with a sudden hot ferocity that Harry did not expect; it was thrilling, and he pressed himself up against Draco even more, shameless arching so that their bodies were almost melded together at their chests. Draco's hands were roaming over the curve of his back and along his arms, cupping his cheek now and again as their kiss deepened and grew rougher at the same time, short sharp sounds of need every time they parted briefly for a gasp of air and then the quick dive back into each other's mouths.

Harry didn't like being touched by most people; he did, however, crave the physical contact of the people he let into his life. He rarely initiated the touches, and had reduced Molly to tears one year when they'd gone to a Samhain memorial ceremony for Fred one year, when he'd put an arm around her shoulder and had given her a soft squeeze.

But he loved when Hermione or Ginny fussed over his hair, he felt a sense of happy belonging when Ron clasped his shoulder after a match and he was currently enjoying the way Draco grabbed at him as if he couldn't decide which part of Harry he needed to feel first. They bumped against the wall next to the door, turning in a complex dance that had one after the other pressed against unyielding surfaces in rhythmic progression.

Harry actually managed to undo the middle fastenings of Draco's robe, sliding his hands in to stroke the warm skin of his stomach, and Draco had wriggled a hand underneath Harry's shirt, stroking down the fine line of hair to the waistband of his jeans when a frightened little voice yelled from behind the door: "What's _happening_? Uncle Harry, let me in!"

Harry pulled back from Draco as if he'd been lit on fire, and Merlin's saggy left tit, he and Draco had been dangerously close to getting each other off _in Teddy's room_. Draco was breathing hard, trying to set his hair back to rights, the sharp points of his cheeks flushed. The handle of the door jiggled with desperation and Draco said, "What...we didn't lock this door, did we?"

"I may have," Harry admitted, running his hand through his own hair. "It's a reflex."

Draco stared at him, his lips red and face all pointy and Harry wanted to snog him some more. "Are you saying that you _wandlessly_ locked this door just now?"

"It's a reflex," Harry repeated, defensive because he didn't quite comprehend that strange expression on Draco's face. "Let me just..." He shut his eyes, letting his magic curl out and unwrap the wild tendrils that held the round door handle in place. "There," he said, opening his eyes and letting his reassuring smile onto his face as Teddy tumbled in. Teddy visibly pulled himself together, looking around the room as if expecting a dragon to slither from underneath the bed.

"There was a lot of bumping going on up here," he finally said, wrinkling his nose at them. "I thought you two were fighting a Boggart, or something!"

"Well," Harry started, and laughed, inexplicably nervous under the steely and confused gaze of a seven-year-old. Great Auroring going on here; fantastic, even. "We weren't fighting, Tedders. Not at all." He glanced at Draco, who stared back at him, gaze searing and intent. It was almost like there was a different Draco standing there, miles apart from the cool man sitting in the fussy armchair, and it was not helping matters at all.

"I hope you haven't crushed any of my presents," Teddy said, very seriously. "That would have been kind of _bad_."

_.:._

"Are you ready?" Draco asked, tone tense through the earpiece of Harry's phone. Harry nodded, forgetting that this wasn't the Floo, and then laughed at himself a little. He'd grown up in the Muggle world, for crying out loud.

"Why are you laughing?" Draco sounded as if he was wound tight.

"I wasn't laughing at _you_," Harry said, rolling his eyes and smiling, "and yes. I'm ready."

They had agreed to Apparate to Hogwarts at the same time, and in a few moments Harry landed lightly just inside the front gates of the castle. Draco was already there, a few steps up the wide driveway, staring up at the castle.

He seemed to be having some kind of highly controlled panic attack, hands fisted at his his sides, jaw clenching and unclenching. Harry walked up to him, and touched his closest wrist.

"Draco?"

"Yes," Draco answered, pulling his hand away. Harry grabbed at it and determinedly laced their fingers together. Draco tried to free himself again, but Harry wasn't called stubborn for nothing. "I'm _fine_, Potter."

"This is the first time you've been here since..." Harry didn't see the need to finish the sentence. "It's fine to feel conflicted about a lot of things."

"_Conflicted_. Hmm." Draco turned to look at him, gaze travelling up and down his robes. "You do clean up nicely, Harry."

Harry grinned. "Yeah? That time I had dinner at your house, you looked as if I'd fallen short of every expectation you ever had."

"I've never held any expectation of you, Harry," Draco said, and the Auror in Harry pointed out that this was actually a lie, for Draco did that tiny twitch of his left shoulder when he wasn't being completely truthful. Harry was sure that Draco didn't even know he was doing it, and actually felt indulgent towards the berk. "I was just surprised that you looked even more attractive than usual."

Harry hoped the burning in his cheeks wasn't visible in the gloom of the evening.

"Blushing, Harry?" Draco mocked, and Harry sighed. "Do you not get enough accolades from the rest of your adoring public?"

To shut him up, Harry kissed him. Draco's reaction to their kisses was always interesting to Harry, because the other man responded with a quick hunger that was belied by his general wankery nature. The fingers of his free hand pressed on one side of Harry's neck, stroking the skin the way someone would pet a spoilt cat. Harry actually trembled at his touch.

"I-" Harry gasped as they broke briefly and Draco claimed his lips again. Harry nearly forgot what they were supposed to be doing.

He tasted very good, Harry decided, and there was a rough edge to their kiss that bordered on brutal. Draco's hands gripped the collar of his robes, and Harry moaned against his mouth and kissed back just as hard.

Harry pulled his face away with a great effort, grabbing Draco's face in his hands.

"We have to go in," he said, half-laughing. "Can't stand out here all night, snogging."

Draco stepped back, and tugged at his own collar. He stood straight, and then gave Harry a very small smile.

"I could," he said and Harry manfully did not pounce on him. "Thank you for helping me with my one aspect. It's been extremely tolerable."

"It sounds like you're breaking up with me," Harry said, smiling even though there was a heavy feeling in the center of his chest. "Wherever will I find another fake relationship?"

Draco did not laugh. "You'll find a real one, somewhere," he said, glancing at the castle. "There's a horde of individuals plotting to rescue you from my evil clutches."

"They'll never measure up to your unmitigated berkiness," Harry said, solemnly. Draco let out a series of soft huffs; not quite a laugh, but still, it was amusement at least. "D'you really mean to change up things, then?"

Draco gave him a curious look, and Harry nodded, keeping his expression firm without being threatening. "What _this_ was all about in the first place?" He flapped a hand between himself and Draco. "You could do it, you know. Make everything worth fighting for."

"Yes. I mean to." Draco's lips twitched. "I'll swear on the Malfoy name, if you like."

"Don't," Harry said. "It's bad faith on my part if you do."

_.:._

The harried-looking witch at the front door had a large leather-bound book, and she ticked their names off a list, and announced their entrance with a powerful voice that required no Sonorous.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy, and Auror Harry Potter!"

There was a ripple of excitement through the milling crowd, and a sea of faces turned to face them, parting like waves as they walked amidst the teeming mass. There were many students as well, eyeing them closely and whispering to each other.

"There, there," Draco said, touching his elbow lightly as they managed to maneuver close to the brick wall. Harry wasn't sure how he managed it, but Draco had ended up between him and the crowd, almost shielding him from their stares. "No need to look so _constipated_."

"I hate crowds," Harry said through his teeth.

"Really," a voice drawled from above them. "The attention-seeking behaviour of your childhood completely negates that declaration. Draco, ten points from Slytherin for fraternizing with idiots."

"Professor," Draco said, turning to look at Snape standing in a nearby frame, an almost guilty smile on his face. "You would have taken fifty points if you were really serious."

"You're grown men," Snape retorted, folding his arms into his sleeves. "I will never again be _serious_ regarding your person, happily. Potter," he threw as a cool greeting before turning and marching out of view. In a few beats, he reappeared again, glaring down his nose. "Draco. Endeavour to visit more often."

"Of course," Draco said.

"It's sort of comforting to know that he will always be annoyed by my face," Harry said as Snape glided away.

Draco grinned, eyes glinting with that attractive malice. "Isn't it, though?"

Most persons that approached them greeted Draco with polite reserve, saving the effusive delight for Harry. There were a few that blatantly cut Draco and Harry simply walked away from those conversations, pulling Draco with him. In a half-hour or so, Harry noticed that Draco had been included in a debate with some older guests, interjecting quick comments which left some of them quirking their eyebrows. Harry slowly increased the distance between himself and Draco, stopping to talk with Headmistress McGonagall.

"It took Draco Malfoy, of all people, to get you to one of these balls," she said, archly. "_Interesting_."

"Nice to see you too, Professor," he said, because she would always be his Head of House. She nodded and stalked off to shoo some of the students back up to their rooms. Harry kept wandering around so that no-one could latch onto him so easily, just keeping an eye on Draco; making sure he was okay. Draco's gaze met his many times, finding his location with surprising ease, as if Harry had some kind of homing device in the middle of his face.

Harry eventually escaped into a winding stair, climbing it and emerging onto one of the turrets, the air chill with evening dew. In the far-flung fields, he could see small Beltane fires, their smoke a hazy dream in the night. He leaned against a crenel, the scent of old stone and older magic curling into his nostrils. He heard a small scuff from the direction of the staircase, and turned around quickly, then blinked at Draco.

"I'd be a terrible real boyfriend," Draco said. Harry's mouth felt dry, and he took a hesitant step towards him. "I'm possessive, and jealous. I'll misread your intentions deliberately."

"I get jealous too," Harry said, feeling a quiet smile pull at the corners of his lips.

"Your self-righteousness would annoy me." Draco watched him carefully as they approached each other. "Your friends would drive me up the wall. You'll spoil Finin and upset Mother."

"I wouldn't understand half the Potions shite you'd talk about. And I'll think at least two-thirds of them were suspicious, anyway. You'll tell Teddy the most outrageous things, just to annoy me." Harry bit the inside of his lip. "We will never see eye-to-eye about your father."

Draco looked in his face as they stood close together. "I'd think you're with me just to make sure I kept out of trouble."

"I'd do everything in my power to keep you out of trouble, and you'll resent me for it anyway," Harry said softly. "We'll have a row on a weekly basis. It'll be fun, I think. We should give it a go."

"Gryffindors," Draco said, and kissed him. "Now come back downstairs. I want them to see how easily you laugh when I tell you the awful Muggle jokes I got from Teddy."

"I'll laugh at all your Muggle jokes if you kiss me again. That's how _real_ boyfriends operate, I've heard," Harry said, and as Draco kissed him again.

"I'll tell you a secret, since we're real now and all," Draco said, licking his ear. "I would have given you Thalberg's books if you'd insisted. Eventually."

"I have a secret too," Harry whispered. "I _know_."

_fin_


End file.
